The Road to the Sun
by The Hmuff
Summary: A series of vignettes on the last stage of Tintin and Haddock's journey through Tibet, from the Horn of the Yak to the Monastery of Khor-Biyong. The final pages of Tintin in Tibet rewritten.
1. Dream

**Part One  
****Dream  
**夢想

相信在一个人的梦想，是把一个人的生命睡着了

_White._

The endless snow, blanketing the earth, screaming, whirling, sweeping down and across the jagged peaks of the mountaintops surrounding.

_Red._

The blood, splattered across the plain of white. Sticky warmth trickling down his clothes and face.

_His face stares up._

Mountains surrounding. The tall, dark, craggy peaks reaching the sky as cold snow swirls around.

_His eyes are wide open._

The stars, specks of light in the infinitely black sky, like spirits hovering in eternal darkness. Closer then they have ever been before.

His skin is white as snow.

His face red with blood.

His body gaping-

"Chang!"

Tintin jolted off the cot, flying forward, his heart pounding, his lungs gasping for breath. _Please not… please not Chang… please not Chang…_

"Tintin?"

He barely heard the words. His mind was shredded; bewildered, agonised chaos. Each shaking breath rattled his chest. His grey eyes stared wildly around him; his heartbeat was so fast and hard it hurt.

"It's okay," he heard the Captain say, and felt his arms go around him. For just a second, his tense body resisted the movement, screaming for space. But eventually his body relaxed, and he let the Captain ease him back down.

"I—I had another dream," he gasped, struggling for air, but Haddock cut him off, shaking his head.

"It's okay. It's just a dream." His brow was furrowed with concern, but he smiled gently, his gloved hand resting against Tintin's cheek for a brief moment as he said, "You go back to sleep, lad, okay? It's fine."

Even in the darkness of the tent, Tintin could see the ice-blue eyes that had, only a few days ago, very nearly closed forever. For his sake. He felt himself nodding. "Okay," he murmured, relaxing against the pillow. Satisfied, Haddock's face disappeared into the darkness of the night as he left Tintin's side, going back to his own pillow and blanket.

Exhaling, the boy closed his eyes tight, but in minutes had opened them again. His eyes wandered to the holes in the canopy of the tent above him. Through the tiny slits, he could see pinpricks of light, glistening through the thick, velvety blackness of the Tibetan night sky. Their light was cold, he thought. So cold and white.

Time flowed onward, drifting like the soft current of wind caressing the canvass tent. His body ached to rest, but sleep had abandoned him. He could hear the Captain's breathing; a slow, steady pattern. Besides that and the wind outside, it was deathly quiet. Tintin shifted his position, trying to become more comfortable. But no matter which way he turned, he couldn't seem to relax. He couldn't get Chang's face out of his mind. And not even what he had seen in his dream. The face he'd seen two years ago, when they'd just met. That face wouldn't leave him. The boy had been so bright, and innocent. And so young.

_Too young to die._

He sighed again, blowing the air out in a steady stream. Despite the thick wool blankets over him, he felt chilled, and burrowed in deeper. The Captain was less than a foot away, and after a moment of hesitation, he moved closer to the man, trying to goad warmth back into his body. It was comforting to be close to someone, he thought. After the dream. It was good to be near someone... alive.

It was a long time before he could fall asleep again.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yep, another _Tintin in Tibet_ fanfic. Guess what my favourite comic book is. Since I'm cramming for the PSAT right now, I decided to do a short story with super short updates. Hopefully, this means more updates! Just... shorter ones.

Also, I forgot to mention that I don't own Tintin, Moulinsart, or Tibet. No, not even Tibet. (I'm not sure who actually _does _own Tibet, but it isn't me.)


	2. Regret

**Part Two  
Regret  
**后悔

不要焦急地期待什麼時候還沒有到，不要徒勞地後悔已經過去。

Raw morning light dripped pale and silent over the Horn of the Yak, running languid down each stone, down the frozen, snow-covered earth. The village of Charabang was visible in the far distance, grey smoke drifting from the ancient red-roofed buildings, floating lazily upwards to meet the iron-grey sky. Staring up at the clouds, Tintin could watch as the pale stars blinked out, swallowed in the pale pink of early morning. The cold that permeated his jacket, whipped through his hair and clothes, seemed to be nothing but a part of the morning-born pallor.

A couple metres away, the sound of a fire crackling caught his attention, and he turned his gaze towards the camp. Haddock was building up the cooking fire in front of the tent, adding scavenged twigs and clumps of dried grass, watching as the thin yellow flames cracked and snapped with the wind.

Time passed. He wasn't sure how long. The sun slowly rose in the sky, pulsing pale gold. It was quiet. The only sounds were the wind and the fire, and even those sounds were soft, familiar, calm.

Breakfast was finished soon, and they sat down to tsampa, the cooked barely meal that had been their entire diet over the past three days. They were used to it by now, however, and knew better than to complain.

They talked little over breakfast. There wasn't much to say.

It had been almost two weeks since they'd set out. Even if Chang had been alive when he'd had that dream, back at the Hotel des Sommets, he knew that the boy could very well be gone now.

His gaze drifted over the landscape surrounding, at the cairns that rose like shrines from the grey rock. Down the pathway, tattered red flags fluttered, snapping back and forth as the bitter wind drove at them. And above, from the rock, grew the mountains. The craggy, snow-capped monuments, arching towards the sky, both threatening and embracing. Like death, he thought.

"They're stunning," Tintin said, staring at iron peaks. "It reminds me of the view from the Great Wall."

"Never been there," Haddock growled, his teeth clamping into his unlit pipe as he laced up his hiking boots.

Tintin rested his elbows on his knees, hunching over, hands crossed in front of him. "I couldn't have been there long enough. We only stayed for a couple minutes. I had to catch the boat back to Europe."

Haddock opened his mouth to inquire who 'we' was, but the answer came before he asked for it.

The mood seemed to grow darker; to cloud over, like the thick haze that was now shielding the sun.

"I should've stayed there longer." The words seemed to fade, and then drift away, like each pale cloud of breath he exhaled. His gaze dropped to the ground, and he took a shuddering breath. "Why did I leave so soon? I didn't have to… there wasn't any rush… not any _real _rush…"

The Captain got the feeling he wasn't talking about the Great Wall, but said, trying to steer the conversation away from Chang. "Saw it from space, though."

Tintin blinked.

"Y'know," he continued. "The wall."

"Oh. Yes." The boy sighed, gently kicking at the snow beneath his feet. "Yes, I suppose we did."


	3. Darkest

**Part Three  
Darkest  
**黑暗

這是最黑暗的曙光到來之前。

Tintin had stood at the gates of the monastery, red arches inscribed with golden script standing tall and monumental above him. Snow had wandered across the path, biting into his face, sweeping over the craggy grey rock. Behind him had stood the monastery, the ancient white building that spoke of thousands of dreams, of monks and wanderers. Crimson kites, like abandoned hopes, had drifted up into the ice-blue sky, cresting the roof of the monastery, seeming to reach the very mountaintops.

_When the night is darkest, you must find your road to the sun._

Blessed Lightning had pressed the scarf into Tintin's hands, repeating the words of the Grand Abbot. Tintin had gladly accepted the scarf, and the burden it signified: to save Chang at all costs.

He still didn't know if he had accepted the words.

He knew what the Abbot had meant; what he still didn't understand, what he had meant by it.

He wondered if Chang would understand.

"The road to the sun," Tintin murmured. His grey eyes searched the rising sun, the burning orb drifting into the cloud-blanketed sky.

He wasn't sure if he wanted this new sun. A new dawn meant another day of not knowing whether or not Chang was alive. Dawn meant they had one less day to save him.

"Tintin, aren't you going to get dressed?" Haddock asked.

It took Tintin a long time to respond. It wasn't until Haddock repeated the question a third time that the boy nodded stiffly, slowly stretching as he stood. His muscles were rigid with sleep-deprivation, and every movement felt sore and jolting as he wandered back towards the tent. He laced on his hiking boots mechanically; the hands that pulled on his coat were numb and unfeeling.

Dawn meant another day he was suffering, dying alone.

As he opened up the tent flap, returning once more to the bitter air of the Horn of the Yak, he unslung the binoculars from around his neck and made his way to his spot, where he could see the entrance of the Eye.

_Find your road to the sun._

But maybe he didn't want a road. Of course, it was better knowing that not knowing. But he couldn't help but be afraid of what he would learn.

Lying inbetween two boulders, staring at the Eye, Tintin thought, _And the third day has begun. _He lay still, as quiet as death, searching the rugged grey expanse though the lenses of his binoculars.

They said it was darkest before dawn.

But Tintin feared that dawn would be the darkest time of them all.


End file.
